A Fine Line
by tinuelena
Summary: Harry and Draco get into a knock-down drag-out fist fight... then hot sex ensues. Your basic random smutty slash.


A/N: This is based on a fanart I saw. I don't know who drew it, but I'm searching and will add a credit if/when I find it. It features Harry, on top of Draco and poised to punch him, with Draco putting a hand to his chest to stop him; they're both disheveled and Draco's a tad bloody. At the top, it says "A Fine Line Between Love & Hate." If you know who made it, let me know so I can add a link to the image and a credit to the artist. Thanks!!

Update: thanks to Annilae, I've found the artist! Her username is lizard-spots and you can find her at deviantart.

lizard-spots dot deviantart dot com/art/HP-Slash-A-Fine-Line-4387415

(this website doesn't like links, apparently, sorry for the spelling out.)

xx

"Malfoy."

No response.

"MALFOY!" Harry's eyes glittered like granite as he stomped forward to confront his foe.

This time, he turned.

"Malfoy, you are the biggest fucking asshole to EVER walk this earth. You fucked up _everyone's_ life with that little stunt, you maggot-infested heap of dog shit…"

Draco wore an amused grin. "Dog shit? C'mon, you can do better than that. Though I am impressed that the Golden Boy should lower himself to _swearing…_"

"I'll lower myself to more than that," Harry growled, pulling out his wand. "What do you want? A Bat-Bogey Hex for an appetizer? Or should I just give you the fucking Cruciatus and be done with it?"

"You don't have the guts," Draco sneered.

"Oh yeah? Try me."

"Fuck you, Potter."

Instead of cursing him into oblivion, Harry reached back and punched him square in the jaw.

This caught Draco off-guard. He brought his hand up to cradle his face, then, in one swift motion, sent a sharp jab to Harry's stomach that made him double over in pain.

That did it. Harry lunged at Draco, shoving him against the wall, and delivered an uppercut to his jaw; Draco countered with a harsh right cross and put the Gryffindor in a headlock.

As Harry struggled to get free, he felt a strange sensation ripple through his veins, along with an even stranger thought—_I've never actually been this close to Malfoy before._

He pushed the thought from his mind and focused, eventually pulling the Slytherin to the floor.

"I'm not letting you go until your face looks like chopped steak," Draco threatened, landing another punch on Harry's cheek.

"I'm going to make you wish I'd used the traditional form of torture," countered Harry. He grabbed Draco and jabbed him in the ribs, ripping his robes in the process.

Draco grabbed Harry by the tie. "I could just string you up and call the Dark Lord, you know." He ripped off the rest of his robes to reveal the Dark Mark on his wrist.

Harry stared. "You son of a bitch, I _knew_ it, I told them—"

Draco gasped in mock surprise. "You mean Granger wanted to think the best of me? I wonder why that is."

It took a moment for Harry to comprehend Draco's meaning; then understanding dawned.

"You lying son of a bitch—Hermione would _never—"_

Draco snorted. "Well, I see why _you_ didn't get sorted into Ravenclaw."

Losing complete control, Harry began to swing wildly at him, smashing Draco's nose in the process. Something inside him had been unleashed, and he wasn't quite sure if it was the fact that the blonde git had just insinuated that Hermione would have actually fallen for his smug smirk and arrogant charm—or that he _recognized_ that he had that charm.

Then, out of nowhere, Draco started laughing. Harry paused. "What the hell is so funny?"

The smirk appeared. "Is anything feeling a bit… constrictive for you all of a sudden, Potter?"

Harry arched an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're—" But even as he said it, he felt that his jeans were noticeably too tight. He turned bright red as Draco broke off into peals of fresh laughter. "So it gives you a hard-on to fight me, does it, Potter?"

There was nothing Harry could say with dignity, so he just reached back to punch Draco's lights out—but Draco put a hand up.

For some reason, Harry let Draco stop him. He could feel his own heart beat against Draco's fingertips.

"How long for you?" Draco said calmly.

"What?"

Draco took Harry's hand, still balled into a fist and ready to punch, and guided it down to his own crotch.

Through Draco's well-tailored slacks, Harry felt a hard bulge, and let out a little gasp.

"It's just the adrenaline rush," Harry said quickly, but before he knew it, Draco had pulled him down by the hair, smashing their lips together. He tasted blood, and whether it was his or Draco's, he had no idea.

His first instinct was to push away, to punch him again, then run off and tell Ron that Malfoy was a Death Eater after all, and not only that, he was a gay Death Eater who apparently had wanted him for some time.

But he found, as Draco's tongue pushed its way inside his mouth, that running was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Malfoy," he gasped, "we have to get out of the hallway."

"What?"

"Do you want someone to find us here like this?"

Draco paused, realizing Harry's fingers were caught in his hair. "Prefect's bathroom," he said quickly. "C'mon."

They sprinted off down the hallway, Draco's mangled robe clutched in his hand, and ran into the cavernous room. Draco muttered some enchantments around the door handle, then went straight for Harry, pinning him up against the wall.

This time, Harry accepted the kiss willingly as Draco ripped his shirt off, scattering buttons across the floor. His tapered fingers traveled Harry's well-sculpted torso, and he felt sensations that no one had ever caused before; not Cho, not Ginny, no one.

As Harry undid Draco's tie, Draco went for Harry's belt, sending it flying into a sink with a metallic clatter.

"Going straight for the prize? That takes balls," Harry said with a little smirk. "Maybe you've got a bit of Gryffindor in you after all."

Draco stared back at him, mischief and hunger in his eyes. "Oh, I expect I will soon enough." With that, he pulled Harry's jeans to the floor. Eagerly, Harry kicked off his shoes, and Draco dropped to the ground to free him of the fabric. On the way back up, he reached tantalizingly into the front of Harry's boxers and pulled him out.

"If this is all adrenaline—" Draco watched Harry with a smirk.

"Oh, just shut up," came the reply, as Harry pulled Draco's wand from his back pocket and pointed it downward. _"Evanesco," _he said smoothly, and Draco's black pants vanished.

"It's much more fun to do it my way," Draco insisted, pulling the wand from his fingers. Desperately, Harry tugged at Draco's shirt until it came over his head, and let his hands ravage his perfect skin.

"You're missing one last piece." He nodded down at his boxers, decidedly Slytherin with their green silk, and looked back at Harry.

He said nothing. Reality wormed its way into his brain for a moment—_what the fuck is going on here, Malfoy and I are undressing each other!_

"Christ, Potter, don't get shy now. Just get me out of these things."

"But Malfoy—do you realize what's going on here—"

"Yes, I do, Potter. We are getting naked in order to shag in the bathroom."

"This is—Malfoy, this is mental, I _hate_ you!"

"That's all well and good. Now finish undressing me before I punch you again."

"Git," Harry said under his breath, but he pulled off the boxers anyway.

"Now you," Draco instructed.

It took a second for Harry to respond. Not only was he a bit unsettled that he was staring at Draco's penis, he was quite unsettled that he _liked_ it—and he was _very_ unsettled by the fact that it was big, and somehow he was supposed to fit that _inside_ his—**time out.**

___I'm going to let Draco Malfoy get inside me._

A big, foolish grin spread across his face.

"What?" demanded Draco.

"You know," Harry said, by way of response, "pretty sure I've wanted this on some unconscious level for a long time."

Draco chuckled. "Why do you think I hate you so much?"

"So what are you saying? That after you fuck me in the ass we can be friends?"

"You have to take off those god damn boxers first."

With a grin, Harry obliged.

Draco stared down at him, impressed not by the length, but the thickness. "You," he guessed, "have satisfied every girl you've ever slept with."

"All two," Harry affirmed, nodding.

"Only two? Really?"

"Yeah."

"Cho and the Weaslette, right?"

Harry was amused. "I didn't know you kept such close tabs on my love life."

"Oh, bloody hell. The whole school knows whenever you even _look_ at a girl. You're the Golden Boy."

"If it's any consolation, it's the same for you," Harry informed him.

He brightened. "Really?"

"But you're mistaken—I never slept with Cho."

"Then who?"  
Harry blushed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this… we swore to keep it a secret."

Draco leaned forward, eager to hear the juicy details. "Ooh, let me guess. Was it Fleur Delacour?"

"What? No."

"She did seem quite thankful that you saved her sister's life."

"Not that thankful, unfortunately."

"Parvati Patil?"

"No."

"Not Loony Lovegood."

Despite himself, Harry chuckled. "No."

"Was it a bloke?" He raised his eyebrows in delight. "Just don't tell me it was Weasley, I swear to Merlin I would go limp and run—"

By now, Harry was laughing. "You're a prat. It was Hermione. We were drunk—it was a one-time thing."

He was silent for a second. "Just so you know, I never did anything with her. I was just trying to piss you off."

"Yeah, I knew it. I knew she'd never give in to you."

Draco took a step toward Harry. "I bet," he said quietly, moving to whisper in his ear, "that she would say the same about you."

He felt his throat tighten. Draco's scent was all around him—citrus and spice. "Then she would be terribly wrong."

And then they were back in a liplock—Harry didn't think he would ever get to breathe another breath, but then again, he decided that this would be a better way to go than at the receiving end of Voldemort's next _Avada Kedavra._

"What about Voldemort?" Harry said, pushing away momentarily. "He probably wouldn't approve of—"

"Fuck him," Draco growled. "There's one thing I want right now."

It didn't need to be vocalized. Draco's eyes did all the talking. Harry dropped to his hands and knees on the cold, hard ground, prepared for whatever was going to happen.

"Where the hell did you put my wand, Potter? This can't be good for the knees—"

"Fuck it. I don't care. I'll take the pain. Just get over here."

"I like the enthusiasm, but in case you forgot, my knees go on the floor too, and unless you want me to try getting in there _without_ lubrication—"

"It's right there."

Draco grabbed the wand and cast a few cushioning charms on the floor. Soft, plush carpet sprouted up from the stone like grass as Draco coated himself with a thick gel.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Harry held his breath as he felt his opening stretch and Draco slip slowly inside.

"Christ, Malfoy. You feel—"

Draco smirked. "Yes?"

There was nothing for it. "Amazing."

Satisfied, Draco began to move inside of him. Harry's fingers curled themselves into the fibers beneath him as he tried to put his mind around all the sensations and emotions attacking his mind and body. One of the people he hated most and trusted least was behind him, manipulating him in one of the most raw, animalistic ways possible, and yet he did not feel threatened. Instead, he felt—well, _filled_, in every way possible.

Behind him, Draco's subconscious was coming to the forefront and his well-held self-control had vanished altogether. All the times he'd sought release in the shower, relying on his hand, when an image of Harry's face would suddenly invade his mind—it made sense now. But Harry was so much better than his own hand, so much _tighter,_ so much more real—

Draco began to move quicker, harder, pounding into Harry as fast as physics would allow. As he plumbed the deepest depths, hitting the most sensitive parts of his insides, Harry cried out, a strangled mix of intense pain and unparalleled pleasure.

"Harry?" He slowed.

He almost didn't respond—Draco had never called him by his first name in the history of their acquaintance. "What?"

"Am I—does it hurt?"

"Yes. But I told you. I'll take the pain."

"Is that—"

"That's an open invitation to do whatever you want."

"You might regret it."

"Maybe tomorrow. But not tonight."

So Draco sped up again, digging his fingers into Harry's hips, admiring the perfect curve of his arse as he slammed it relentlessly.

Harry's eyes watered—the carpet was in shreds already, so he clawed at the remains. It hurt so badly—every thrust a dull stab, every motion a tiny rip. But as Draco drilled into him like a jackhammer, he felt little bursts of ecstasy from spots in his body he never knew existed.

"Potter—I'm close—"

"Come," Harry growled. "Fill me."

And Draco exploded, in several glorious thrusts, filling Harry's canal with a stream of his seed.

Sweaty and satisfied, they collapsed onto the carpet.

"That," Harry sighed, muffled by the carpet, "that was something else."

"You're bleeding," Draco announced.

Harry shrugged. "I expected as much."

"Bloody Gryffindor, trying to be all brave… you'll take the pain…" He continued to mutter under his breath as he reached for his wand to perform a healing spell for Harry.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." The words tasted strange in his mouth.

They laid in silence until Draco spoke up again.

"You didn't come."

Harry turned. He wore an amused grin. "Am I to understand you're thinking about someone else for once?"

"Oh, fuck you, Potter," he groused, but he was grinning.

Harry grinned back.

"Don't worry. I'll get to that."

Draco held his breath. "Tonight?"

"Next time."


End file.
